


Dyke the Halls

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bisexuality, Christmas, Coming Out, Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-19 17:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13709316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: John comes to terms with his feelings for Sherlock and comes out to Harry at a contentious family Christmas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Christmas jumper that inspired me to write it.
> 
> thanks to merindab for betaing.

John took a sip of his eggnog, desperately wishing his mum hadn’t suddenly decided to pour all the brandy down the drain last night. She probably wanted to prevent another drunken brawl, though wasn’t that just another family tradition at this point? He sighed heavily. At least a smidge of brandy would have dulled the pain of listening to the giant row Da and Harry were still having. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate her fashion sense.

Of course, deciding to wear her ‘Dyke the Halls’ sweater to Christmas Eve service probably wasn’t her most politic decision. 

John walked outside, letting the door fall shut behind him. It was cold and clear as he walked down to the pavement, far enough away that at least he couldn’t hear the exact words anymore. He missed Sherlock and the coziness of their flat keenly. Despite having a flatmate who might blow things up at any moment, John still felt safer there. It had been years since Da had tried to land a blow on any of them, but he was still a sight when he was mad and it brought back too many uncomfortable memories in this house.

He wondered how Sherlock was faring. Mrs. Hudson had left some of Sherlock’s favorite biscuits on a plate by his microscope, but John realized he hadn’t left anything. Maybe they’d do a little something when he got home. Not that Sherlock celebrated. Was Sherlock even home, or had Mycroft convinced him to come to the country cottage after all? In all likelihood he was puttering around Baker Street alone.

John smiled, as he recalled a dream from the night before. Sherlock had been analyzing Christmas decor like Jack Skellington in Nightmare Before Christmas. The more he imagined Sherlock bent over his microscope looking at holly sprigs and running experiments on powdered ornament glass, the more tickled he got, until he was giggling like loon. God, he missed that madman.

The door slammed behind him and Harry grabbed his glass and drained it. “Damn. With you out here sounding mad as a hatter, I thought you’d found a nip of something.”

“No such luck. Mum.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Has Da simmered down yet?”

“Nope. I’m still queer.”

John snorted a strangled sort of chuckle without much mirth. If his increasingly frequent thoughts about Sherlock these past weeks meant anything, he might be too. He still liked women. Always had. But something niggling in the back of his mind told him it wasn’t _just_ women. It wasn’t often that a bloke caught his attention, but it had been easy to ignore before. But now? He had stopped dating months ago. Unfortunately, Sherlock didn’t feel things that way. Maybe at all, maybe just about him. He took a deep breath and said, “Me, too.”

Harry looked up, eyes wide for a second before they narrowed again. “I knew it! You’re shagging him aren’t you.”

John blushed and muttered, “In my dreams” before he could stop himself.

He figured she’d be angry, with her taking the brunt of the fighting ever since their parents had caught her having more than a sleepover with Sally Jane when they were 16. Instead she just fixed him with a look which softened into such sympathy he nearly teared up as she laid a hand on his arm and said, “Oh, John. Does he know?”

“I figure he must. He’s Sherlock. But then, maybe not. Emotions aren’t really his area.”

“You should tell him. Clara dated that bloke from chem class and I thought she’d never like me. We wasted a year dancing around each other because she thought I was one of those lesbians that wouldn’t go with a girl who liked guys too and I,” she laughed in self deprecation, “I forgot both was an option, so I didn’t ask her out after they broke up. Then she snogged a girl at my end of term party and that was that. You'll never know if you don’t ask.”

John sighed. Maybe she was right. There was that first night, but they barely knew each other then and John hadn’t been trying to hit on him. Not consciously. Anyway, that was a long time ago.

“Don’t bollocks it up like I did. One of us should get to be happy.”

Harry rarely admitted fault for their break up, but it was definitely her drinking that pushed a wedge between them. She and Clara had been so happy until Harry lost her job and befriended the bottle again. They tried getting help, but Harry had to lose the one thing she loved before she was willing to crawl out again.

John squeezed her hand. “I’m not sure happy is a Watson trait.”

She shook her head. “Maybe not, but you deserve it.“

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Happy Christmas, John.” 

“Happy Christmas, Harry.”


	2. Chapter 2

John unlocked the door and walked in, dropped his bag by the door, and toed off his shoes as he hung up his jacket. It was already dark and there weren’t any lights on in the flat.

He padded into the kitchen, flipping the switches on to illuminate the space and set about making tea. It was bloody cold out there and only a little better inside. Maybe he’d lay a fire after his mug was ready. He almost added a bit of whisky, but thought better of it. It felt better to abstain for a bit after spending time with Harry, as if reassuring himself that he could. He smiled at the tender moment they’d had today and shook his head slightly. He was nearly forty, but he supposed that didn’t matter. He’d come out for the first time. 

He dunked the bag a few times in the tea, not wanting to wait for it to really steep. His mother would be appalled. He threw the bag in the bin and took a sip. Too hot, it burnt his tongue a little, but he felt the warmth all the way down. He carried the tea in and set it down by his chair and turned to the fireplace. He smiled that the fire was already laid. He hoped it wasn’t for some kind of experiment. He lit it and sat back on his heels a bit watching it crackle to life, filling the room with warmth and dancing shadows and wondered where Sherlock was.  
After a moment, he stretched out in front of the fire and propped a few pillows around him. The warmth felt good on his aching shoulder and he was loath to go all the way to his chair. He snagged a book and began to read, but the weekend caught up with him and he wasn’t more than a few paragraphs in when he started to doze off.

 

Sherlock let himself in quietly and hung up his coat. He smiled at the fire already burning merrily. This was Christmas far more than the bustle of the day with relations. Just John and the fireside were all he needed tonight. He assumed John had just gone to the loo, but as he stepped closer he stopped short, seeing John in his nest of pillows by the hearth, his face lit by the fire, His hair glowing golden in the flickering light and Sherlock’s chest ached. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. He turned away to school his features. The last thing he needed was to startle John awake, mooning over him like a lovesick teenager. John would catch on sooner or later, but it needn’t be so terribly embarrassing when it happened.

He grabbed the blanket from the sofa and settled it around John. It wouldn’t do to leave him there all night, but with the fire as bright as it was, he couldn’t have been asleep long. Best give him a little rest before moving him. 

Sherlock sat pondering the glint in his father’s eyes each time he saw mummy across the room and she wasn’t looking. He knew to the very core of his being that was the look he had just now watching John in the firelight. He never thought he would have that.  
Of course it took two to be that happy. They have a good life here. The cases, companionship. It ought to be enough. More than he ever hoped for, certainly. And yet, there was just a touch of loneliness for that piece they’d never share, a coldness that he let himself feel now even in this cozy firelit space. When John was home and awake, he always filled the space with such life that Sherlock rarely felt this space. This little empty place in his heart that he never would admit to having. He shook his head and cleared his throat as if to dispel the melancholy.

John stirred. “Oh, hello,” he said, voice croaky with sleep. ”Been home long?”

“Just arrived,” Sherlock says, though he’d watched John sleep for an hour. 

“Have a happy Christmas, then?”

“It was uneventful, yet didn’t devolve into charades. The best we can hope for at one of Grandmere’s soirees. The train back was more stimulating. It was packed. Plenty to deduce to keep me entertained. Even caught a minor mix up of stuffies before the children or parents could notice and get out of sorts about it. Nearly identical giraffe stuffies but their neck ribbons were different. The toddlers had been playing and one was trying to walk off with the other child’s though his was clearly in his mother’s handbag. Hardly an elaborate crime, but it did prevent wailing on the train, so at least it improved my ride.”

“I’m sure the parents were grateful.”

“I think they wondered why a strange man was talking to their child.” Sherlock let out a long-suffering sigh, "Honestly, people can’t be bothered to observe anything.“

“That’s why the world has you,” John smirked up at him, shifted, then winced slightly. The position that had been so comfortable when he got down there was actually killing his hip now and one arm was practically numb. 

He clambered to his feet and set about tossing the pillows back where they belonged. 

“And you? Did you have a happy Christmas with the Watson clan?”

John leveled an almost comically put upon gaze at him.

Sherlock quirked a brow. “You usually hate it when I deduce you.”

“I’m full of surprises. I don’t mind today.”

“Oh all right. Your father is still your father. Not pleased to see Harry, or at least not pleased that she’s still gay. Not such a happy Christmas, but nothing was broken and presents were exchanged. It was good to see your mum, but it always makes you a little sad. Harry is still on the wagon, but would have fallen off if anything stronger than the vanilla extract in the cabinet had presented itself. She and Clara aren’t together still, but she is starting to harbor a little hope. They are seeing each other soon. All in all not bad, though you would have liked to see Clara and were hoping they’d already reconciled.”

“You get all that from what? The wrinkles in my trousers? A stain on my shirt?”

Sherlock chucked. “Harry likes post to Facebook and Twitter. And I was bored. Other things are because I know you.”

If Sherlock saw anything about his revelation, he didn’t say anything. 

They drank tea in companionable silence while the fire died down, then made their to bed. John felt slightly defeated. He didn’t have the courage to start anything and he’d rather been hoping Sherlock would deduce it. Did that mean he had seen some tell and didn’t mention it because he didn’t care to, or could he really not see the way John felt? He thought he might lay awake pondering all these things, but fell asleep nearly as soon as he slid under the covers.

\---  
John opened the package. Inside was a typed card that read:  
_Happy Christmas John. Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to wear any of these next Christmas. Just remember our talk. Oh, and here’s a new mug. I know I broke one the last time I was there and I never replaced it. ;)  
\--- Harry_

He unwrapped the soft black jumper from around the mug. He had to laugh as he traced the blue purple and pink stripes on the new mug, because of course Harry had replaced the old black and white striped mug she broke with a bi pride one.

There was a separate note pinned to the jumper itself:  
_Sharon (you remember- Clara’s gran), overheard me complimenting the jumper she knitted Clara. I joked about sending you one. Sorry for outing you accidentally, but I had no idea she was listening (and figured you wouldn’t care about Clara. Spousal privilege or something. Anyway, Sharon had made a bunch for Do You Hear Something Queer (Clara’s acapella group) and had accidentally made an extra bi one, so she pulled it out of her project bag and insisted I take it for you. You know how she always loved you. Anyway, you don’t have to wear it but I said I’d give it to you, so there you go._

When John took the note off, there emblazoned on the soft black jumper, were three fairy lights. One pink, one purple, and one blue. Apparently John was now the proud owner of a hand knit, bisexual Christmas jumper.

In the bottom of the box was a jumper with the text ‘Don We Now Our Gay Apparel’ surrounded by a holly motif.

He let out a small huff of laughter and then put the items away in the box, embarrassed in equal measure at the small sigh of relief he gave about Sherlock not being home to observe this, and at the fact that he hadn’t brought up his feelings yet. 

Talking to Harry days ago, it had suddenly seemed so simple. Of course he should tell Sherlock. Of course he should try for what he really knew he wanted. But since being back in the flat it felt more complicated. He didn’t want to jeopardize his life, his home, what he’s built with the best friend he’d ever had. 

Shoving the box in his closet, John couldn’t decide whether he appreciated the gesture or was going to finally send her the ‘vagitarian’ shirt in retaliation.


	3. Chapter 3

December 30

Hey John can you come to Clara’s performance tonight? HW

Free unless we get a case. You two don’t want to be alone? JW

Yeah alone with a hundred queers and free booze sounds great for my sobriety. Just found out there’s an open bar. HW

I’ll come. JW

Bring Sherlock. He likes music. HW

He likes music. He hates people. We’ll see. JW 

 

Just then, Mrs. Hudson bustled up the stairs to 221B as fast as her hip would allow. 

John pocketed his phone and looked up.

She tucked a card onto the kitchen table along with a plate of her famous toffee scones, which were John’s favorite, but even Sherlock would always eat one or two. They were irresistible. 

“Buttering us up?” John smirked. “You know we always like to help you out anyway. What did you need?”

“Oh, you. It isn’t ‘need,’ really. It’s just that my niece and her wife are stopping by in a week or so. Since it’ll be the 12th day of Christmas, I thought I’d just have a little do for them. Silly jumpers, finish up the Christmas cookies and fruitcake, drinks and nibbles, you know. And I hate to ask. Not exactly social, is our Sherlock? But they really like the blog and since you two are right upstairs…”

Sherlock walked in, waving a hand in a gesture which could have been just as easily interpreted as “hello’ or ‘shoo,” but Mrs Hudson just handed him a scone.

“We’ll stop by.” Sherlock said, nibbling the scone and leaving John to gawp for a moment before he also agreed that of course they wouldn’t miss it. 

Mrs Hudson smiled, delighted. She’d clearly been prepared for more of a fight.

“Oh, and if you have a terrible Christmas jumper, wear it. One last hurrah of the season and all. And if you don’t, I’ll send up one of Frank’s up for you.” It sounded friendly but there was a glint in her eye that John couldn’t place.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure we have something festive,” though Sherlock did manage to pronounce the word ‘festive’ as if naming something particularly nasty he’d scraped off his ridiculously posh Italian loafers. 

When Mrs. Hudson left John said, “Actually I have a favor to ask, too.”

Sherlock looked up from his scone with an inquisitive hum. 

“Harry asked me to go to a concert tonight. She found out there’ll be an open bar and actually reached out for support. I think she’s really doing it this time.”

Sherlock’s smile was genuine. “That is a good sign.”

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to come with me. The group is actually good.” 

“Who are they?”

John cheeks pinked slightly as he said, “Do you Hear Something Queer. It’s Clara’s acapella group.”

Sherlock laughed, then added, “I’ll go.”

 

John spent longer than usual getting dressed. He debated wearing the jumper and even tried it on. He wanted Sharon to know it was appreciated, but didn’t want to be confused for the group. When he finally emerged in his dark blue jumper and jeans, Sherlock was perched on the couch, immaculately dressed in his black trousers and a deep blue button up John had never seen before. He was listening to the group on his phone. 

“I wanted to be prepared if I had to feign enjoyment. I know Clara is important to you. Luckily, I don’t have to. They are more than competent.” 

John laughed. “Well, I’m glad you found them acceptable,” but inwardly he was actually stunned by the sweetness of it. It didn’t seem like Sherlock to go out of his way to pretend to like something. All that social nonsense usually put him right off. 

They were leaving a touch later than he wanted, but luckily Sherlock’s strange ability to hail a cab at nearly anytime held true. John tried to fasten the seat belt but it jammed up.

“Sorry gents,” the cabbie said. “That belt doesn’t work right. I keep telling them to fix it, but it never stays. Cost me a few fares today, I can tell you. The middle and right ’re fine, though. All right?” the cabbie said.  
They shrugged and John budged over, feeling more like he was on a date than he had any right to, especially once they were squashed together on one side of the seat. He was probably just imagining it, with everything he hadn’t said swirling around in his head and the fact they were going to this particular concert together, but a strange nervous energy seemed to crackle in the between them. Sherlock’s thigh was warm, pressing tight against his own and with the limited arm room, it would have felt natural to hold hands, but that seemed odd? Invasive? Romantic? While John was pondering this, Sherlock just rearranged them into a more comfortable space, arms linked companionably. 

 

They found Harry at the entrance to the little theatre. “Oh good, you both made it just in time. Here, Clara left us tickets,” she said handing them round. John felt a stab of guilt at having taken so long getting ready. Clearly Harry had been here awhile and didn’t want to head in without backup. Another good sign, though. Back in the day she would have used it as an excuse. 

There were the usual greetings and such, but mostly time to find their seats. The evening was going as smoothly as one could hope. The music was great, Harry was sober, and Sherlock actually seemed to be having a good time.

At intermission, Sherlock offered to get sparkling waters all around. When he returned, glasses for the three of them balanced carefully in his hands so effortlessly it made John wonder if he had to spent time undercover as a waiter or a bartender, but all such musing ceased when he noticed the jumper draped over Sherlock’s arm.

“Find something else on your way?” 

“They were selling them next to the bar. Local knitters made them. If I have to wear a horrible Christmas jumper for Mrs Hudson, it might as well be handmade and benefit the AKT. Besides, I know the kind of rude jumpers Frank wore. Better this than defecating reindeer, snowmen with inappropriately placed carrots, or nude cavorting elves. Those are just the ones I can’t seem to delete. I swear he had one for each day of the season.” 

They collectively winced at the imagery.

“This is much more tasteful,” Sherlock said as he managed to hold up the jumper without spilling his drink.

“The rainbow one lights are pretty popular,” Harry commented, sipping her drink nonchalantly.

“Well, some people probably figure they can sneak by with them just being generally colored fairy lights, and otherwise it is one of the oldest flags, so some people still use it even if they aren’t strictly speaking ‘gay’. I’d look better in the purple one, but if I’m actually buying something it might as well be accurate.”

Harry smiled and John just stared at him for a second, before adding, “Yeah. Of course.”

There wasn’t time to say anything else. The lights flashed and sent everyone scurrying back to their seats.

Sherlock had bought a gay jumper. Well, there was one question down. Something about the way he looked at John when he held it up was almost flirty. John was very aware again of the warmth of Sherlock’s leg where it brushed against his and tentatively reached over, clasping Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock glanced sideways at him, and gave a soft smile as the concert started again. John had never enjoyed Carol of the Bells more.

After the show they spent a few minutes congratulating Clara and meeting her friends from the group. 

“We were headed out to dinner. Care to join us?”

“Oh, we’re all right. Thanks, though. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow, but Harry’s free, aren’t you, Harry?”

Sherlock raised his brows at John. They had nothing on in the morning and they both knew it, but for once he said nothing.

They said their goodbyes and headed out into the chill winter air. 

They paused a moment on the pavement and before hailing a cab, Sherlock said almost formally, “John, I had a wonderful time tonight. Thank you for inviting me.”

“I did, too. I always have a good time when I’m with you. Well, nearly always,” John added with a wink.

Sherlock looked almost offended for a second before shrugging as if to say ‘that’s fair’.

“So, um, thanks for coming and thanks for going along with that exit. It’ll would be good for Harry and Clara to spend some time alone.” 

“Anytime. I think they may make it work. Sometimes you think so much has gone on that things could never work or people don’t feel the same. People are happy to be together as friends or whatever, but well, then you can have a night where it seems like things might fall into place. I… I hope they do. That things work out.”

He squeezed John’s hand slightly and John stopped, looking down. It had felt so natural, he hadn’t even realized until Sherlock drew his attention that they were still holding hands, or maybe holding hands again? He couldn’t quite work out when it had happened. Realizing he hadn’t responded, he squeezed back. “We still talking about Harry and Clara?”

Sherlock stilled and cleared his throat. “What do you think?” 

“I’m thinking, and I hope I’m not too far off here, that I should thank God for my own second chances and Christmas miracles. Am I on the right track?”

As if answering each other's questions, spoken and unspoken, John and Sherlock leaned towards one another. In all his fantasies, John never imagined the utter perfection of just how good, how right those plump lips would feel against his. Sherlock had deduced quite a bit about what it might be like to kiss John H Watson, but he hadn’t really ever thought he’d get to know for sure. He could never have predicted how safe and loved he would feel as John’s strong hands cradled the back of his head and deepened their kiss.

When they drew back, Sherlock's pale cheeks were flushed with more than just the brisk air. "We should, um... Baker Street?"

John nodded enthusiastically, amazed that their first kiss had, for the moment, broken Sherlock’s ability to form whole sentences. He allowed himself to privately wonder what more vigorous activities would do to him and hoped he would have the opportunity to find out very soon. But tonight, this was enough. They held each other close all the way back to Baker Street and soon discovered (to the delight of Mrs. Hudson) that they slept more soundly when curled up together than they ever had apart. By the next week, Sherlock had a spreadsheet to prove it, not that John needed that data. He was content with the feeling of warmth that bloomed in his chest when he woke up to six feet of consulting detective sprawled on top of him. Definitely the best way to start the new year. Every day of it so far. John hoped it would be everyday for the rest of their lives.

January 5th

Sherlock and John lounged on the couch, each in a handmade fairy lights jumper, Sherlock absentmindedly rubbing John’s foot as they read. John was enjoying a chapter of a new mystery, which Sherlock had sworn he wouldn’t ruin the ending of. Sherlock flipped through the newspaper scanning for possible cases. 

“Yoo hoo,” Mrs. Hudson called as she brought up the mail. Over her arm she had a couple of Frank’s horrible jumpers. “Are you sure you don’t need… Oh, you remembered!” She dropped the jumpers over the back of the chair and John was certain he saw a T-rex in a Santa hat. “I wasn’t expecting matching ones, but don’t you two look handsome.”

“Hmm, he does, doesn’t he,” John said with a fond smile.

“She meant you too,” Sherlock said, setting aside the paper and pulling John to his feet and into a kiss.  
When they broke apart, John added, “We’ll be down in a few minutes, Mrs. Hudson.”

On her way out the door she paused to say, “Don’t get too distracted, dears. The walls are thin. I’ll get used to it, and it does my heart good that you are finally happy, but guests will be here any minute.”

They chuckled as she left, then Sherlock whispered, “I wonder how quiet you can be?”

“An experiment for later,” John said, batting him playfully. 

“Spoilsport,” Sherlock muttered as he grabbed the bottle of wine.

“Think of it as anticipation.”

They heard the door downstairs as company arrived.

Somehow it felt more momentous than just a party at Mrs. Hudson’s. It was their first get together as a couple. Mark and Jeff from next door would be there, Greg and Molly were planning to stop by, and several of Mrs H’s friends and relations. 

“That’s our cue, I believe”

“Indeed,” John said, taking his hand. He smiled at how easy it felt. One more kiss and then they were off to face their small corner of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although the acapella group is made up, the charity is real. I am in no way affiliated with this charity, but I figure that raising money for the Albert Kennedy Trust, which supports LGBT homeless youth, would appeal to Sherlock. Check it out (https://www.akt.org.uk/) and donate if you can.


End file.
